The Bonds of Osteria: Book Four of the Osteria Chronicles (Greek Gods Epic Fantasy) Read online

  The Bonds of Osteria

  Book Four of the Osteria Chronicles

  by

  Tammie Painter

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold, printed, distributed, or uploaded without the author’s written permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright 2018 Tammie Painter

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  The Osteria Chronicles

  Characters in The Bonds of Osteria

  Glossary

  The Bonds of Osteria

  Medusa & Perseus in Greek Mythology

  Bonus Material

  About the Author

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  Also by Tammie Painter

  The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles

  The Voyage of Heroes: Book Two of The Osteria Chronicles

  The Maze of Minos: Book Three of the Osteria Chronicles

  13th Hour: Tales from Light to Midnight

  The Osteria Chronicles

  Hundreds of years ago, North America experienced The Disaster. In what was once the Pacific Northwest, the survivors built a new world, Osteria, which was then divided into twelve city-states.

  To this world came the gods formerly worshipped by the Ancient Greeks. The gods have not changed—they are still powerful, petty, and consumed with rivalries and jealousy.

  And just as before, the gods do not play fairly with those who stand in their way.

  Prologue

  Medea

  Not here. Please, not here.

  I grip my belly and double over as another pain sears through me.

  If the gods are real they have a wicked sense of humor.

  The air is filled with the all-too-familiar stench of fish that wafts up from Colchis’s walled-in harbor. It’s an odor I should have grown accustomed to after smelling it every single day of my life but I never have. Still, it’s the scent of home. I have to be less than a mile from Colchis Castle.

  After getting so close, after having to scurry from Athenos thanks to that pest Odysseus raising the alarm, after wanting nothing more but to collapse with exhaustion from the masking charm and from the sped-up pregnancy, after having to trek across this rugged terrain not knowing when a vigile might take me by the scruff of the neck and drag me away to the fate of all blood crimers, after getting so close to safety, why must I now be struck down by contractions? Could this child not wait just a little longer to come into the world?

  I want to scream with pain and frustration, but I can’t risk drawing the attention of the centaurs.

  The cramping passes. It leaves me weaker than I have ever felt in my life, but I won’t be delayed. If my calculations are right, my father announces the change to his will today. The change that cuts all his ties with me, the change that denies my child his rightful inheritance, the change that allows the first man who betrayed me and the woman he betrayed me with to ascend to the throne that should belong to me and this baby for whom I’ve risked everything.

  Suddenly I’m ripped in two with another contraction. This time I can’t control it. I scream so loudly I swear the sound rushes from my lips all the way to the Califf Lands. I clench the muscles in my groin as if trying not to pee, as if I’ll somehow hold back the tide of infancy trying to break through. I stagger forward. The centaurs will have heard me.

  My birthing took so long last time. Hours of agony. Why should this one be different? I just need to keep moving forward. My short, clumsy steps send pain to places deep within my body that only a medic could name. Surely I can get to the castle before—

  I drop to the ground as another contraction tears into me. They’re too close together. Dear gods why did I speed up this pregnancy? What point was there in it? Because I wanted to have Aegeus’s child before he could name Theseus heir of Athenos. Because I wanted to impress my father by breeding an heir for Colchis.

  Now, I think with a laugh, I may miss out on the chance to have this ball of pain named to his rightful place because he’s in such a hurry to see the world. Panting so hard it makes me dizzy, I force myself to my feet. I continue forward following the nauseating stench of fish.

  The next crushing blow is too much. My legs give out from under me. I collapse to my hands and knees, screeching like a cat whose tail has just been maimed by a cart wheel. I don’t even have the energy to clap a hand over my mouth.

  The centaurs will have heard. No doubt they would love to see me in pain, but what will they do? Will they watch me suffer or will they crush me under hoof? How did Colchis end up with this rogue band of centaurs who refused to follow Chiron’s plan of domestication? And why did we issue a royal decree that allowed Colchians to hunt and torment them? They’re disgusting animals, that’s why. The thought of treating centaurs as equals sends a new wave of nausea through me.

  The next pang comes with a heavy pressure between my legs and, centaurs or no, I howl with the crowning of my child's head. My arms buckle and I fall face first into the layer of conifer needles that coats the Colchian Forest floor. At least the resinous, earthy smell of them is better than the dead-fish reek of the harbor. I breathe it in with my hips stuck up in the air like a bitch in heat. If the centaurs do come, I can’t let them see me like this. I use all my strength to push myself up and into a squatting position. A modest speck of relief washes over me as the pain subsides.

  The moment of calm is short-lived as I'm stretched apart until I swear my body is splitting straight up the middle. No royal cushions cradle my newly birthed baby as they did last time. Instead, a bed of moist, decaying fir needles catches the infant as it makes its final slither from my body.

  I'm exhausted. My trembling legs can no longer hold the squat. I drop to my knees waiting for the contraction that will force out the rest of the mess of childbirth. I scoop up my baby. A boy. At least I didn’t go through all this to produce a girl that would be nothing in my father’s eyes. Aeetes has his heir now. I wrap the baby in my cloak to protect this valuable creature against any chill, then I shift aside my dress’s top so the Prince of Colchis can enjoy his first meal.

  The afterbirth purges from me as the baby begins to suckle. I want nothing more than to sleep, but I have to continue. I swear that’s the top of the castle just beyond the trees. So close. I’m tired, but it's not far. Once I get there I can sleep for a week. But I must get there. My father must see his true heir. I will not allow Phrixus to take my child’s rights. The thought of Glauce’s face when she learns her darling husband has been replaced by my child gives me a renewed sense of strength.

  I listen to the forest as the prince takes his fill of my milk. Even centaurs can’t move in complete silence. I hear nothing but birds calling. At least the vile creatures know enough to keep away from real humans.

  The baby finishes his meal. Milk drips from me and from his toothless mouth. I cover myself and try to stand. My legs have gone numb from how I’m kneeling. I pause in mid-crouch, letting the blood tingle back in.

  The ring of a metal blade sounds behind me. I close my eyes and clutch my baby tighter.

  The centaurs have found me.

  Not this close to home. Not with all I have been through. At least a sword means a quick death. But what centaurs would approach so silently? Surely the drunken beasts would just barrel in, hack me to bits, and trample the new prince. But who else would be
out here? The guards don’t patrol this far and I imagine every Colchian who can afford the time away from their work is attending my father’s ceremony to announce Phrixus’s new status as heir.

  With stealthy silence, the sword bearer steps around me.

  My whole body shakes. Fear, exhaustion, the strain of birth all hit me at once. I can’t run. Even if my legs weren’t screaming as they awaken from their numbness, I can’t imagine summoning the energy to stand. I look up. Using all my strength, I tilt my head up from the tiny prince in my arms to the face of my pursuer. It burns with rage. He holds his sword high, gripping the hilt with both hands, ready to plunge the blade into my breast where the newborn sleeps.

  1

  Typhon

  Kronos concludes his guttural muttering in the ancient dialect of the titans.

  "Will it work?" I ask, giving him no time to recover from his trance-like state. I immediately regret my haste. Kronos glares at me with eyes that could cut through even the strongest Helenian steel. Since he’s the only one who can call up the other titans, and—as much as I hate to admit it—I cannot destroy the gods of Osteria on my own, I need to keep Kronos’s favor. "Apologies. I meant how long will it be until they come?"

  "Are you planning on waiting here? In my home?" the father of all titans, and all the gods for that matter, asks with a disgusted sneer on his lip.

  "That’s not answering my question."

  "And you’re not answering mine." His voice growls with rising irritation.

  "It would be easier if I stayed. I can keep out of your way. This place is big enough." Kronos’s home dominates an island in a lake formed inside a volcanic crater in southern Osteria and is large enough for a herd of titans. "If you don’t mind."

  My gaze flicks to a lone rock balanced on a pedestal in the foyer. Titans never have done well living in close proximity. We’re so bad at long-term unions I often wonder if Rhea would have fed him that stone—the stone that led to his decline and to the rise of the Twelve—even if Kronos hadn’t threatened to eat all their children. Still, that hunk of basalt serves as a reminder to Kronos of the gods he hates, the gods he fought, and the gods who defeated him. That defeat let Zeus, Kronos’s own son, to strip him and all other titans of most of our powers. Ever since, this forbearer of the titans has stewed in anger over his wife’s trickery and his children’s betrayal. My goal is to use that anger, not become its focus. Kronos’s eyes follow mine. At the sight of Rhea’s stone, the irritation on his face hardens into a stern resolve.

  "I do mind, but I suppose it’s better than having to put up with you knocking on my door every two days to see if anyone’s arrived yet."

  "They will show up," I say, hoping to sound reassuring, hoping to cajole Kronos into being a partner in this rather than a cantankerous delivery system.

  "Of course they’ll come." His voice thunders through the cavernous space. "Most of them can’t simply snap their fingers to appear and disappear where and when they choose as you still can, but they know what’s best for them. They will heed my call regardless of the effort it takes."

  He stalks off to bash stones into gravel or whatever it is he does to occupy his days out here on the outskirts of Osteria.

  Although he had been reluctant to make it, Kronos’s call is effective and not long after he issues it, titans begin arriving to his secluded home. As part of our punishment after the war between the titans and the gods, the more closely related a titan was to Kronos, the more powers that were stripped from him or her. I, being far removed from Kronos’s direct line, retain a range of powers including affecting natural forces (earthquakes being my favorite), changing form at will, and traveling much as the gods do.

  Those with the least amount of power, those closest in relation to Kronos, can’t travel from one end of Osteria to the other with a mere clap of the hands and are forced to walk. However, they can still boost their size to cover the same distance with one step as twenty human-scale steps.

  As the first group arrives they make a game of stomping through the lake to the island. Their bulk pushing through the water creates massive wakes, but when the force of three racing titans sends a tidal wave of water gushing through his foyer, Kronos roars that the next titan who spills even a drop of water in his home will be crumbled into dust and swept out the door.

  The more distant of Kronos’s relations like to flaunt their remaining powers in the faces of the less powerful. With a dramatic flair, some—including Notus—come in as hail storms brought on black clouds and gale-force winds. The less dramatic ones simply appear out of nowhere. Of course, despite Kronos’s assertions, not all the titans show up. I didn’t expect they would; we’re too solitary these days. Also, some of the more disgruntled titans have wandered beyond Osteria’s eastern mountain boundary far out of Kronos’s reach. Others, like Atlas who has been condemned to hold up the sky, can’t leave their posts because of the work they are forced to do in service to Osteria. Service that is akin to slavery.

  In truth, I’m surprised at the number who do heed Kronos’s summons. Even Prometheus makes an appearance. I have my doubts whether he can ever be an ally. He has no love for Zeus, but does he dislike the gods enough to cancel out his affection and adoration for humans? I cringe. The thought of feeling anything but hatred for those god-loving pests makes my gut want to turn inside out.

  From the landing above the entry hall I observe the titans trickle in. It’s intriguing to see us together. I know the gods live amongst one another in a massive palace on Olympus and spend much time in each other’s company in a common room or in one of the many gardens skirting the edges of the palace. Such camaraderie is not for the titans. A few gossip in corners and smile tentatively as they reunite with former allies or lovers, but many seem to have no idea what to do in such close proximity to one another. Like awkward human youths, they stand about as if they’re only here to inspect the walls and ceiling. Several appear, linger for a few moments then, after completing some debate within their own minds, hurry for the door and disappear.

  Shyness may not account entirely for these fleeing titans. As a concession to losing our war against the gods, in addition to the stripping of our powers we were commanded to live isolated from each other in the most remote regions of Osteria and never to gather in large groups as we are doing now. They may fear breaking this rule Zeus imposed on us. If this is the case, I’m glad they’ve left before we delve too far into my scheme.

  I’m just heading down the stairs from the landing, when a crash echoes throughout the hall and silences the few mumbled conversations taking place. A few of the titans who can, disappear with panicked claps of their hands. Others skitter aside to reveal Kronos’s rock has tumbled from its pedestal. In place of the stone, Rhea perches on the plinth and surveys the room.

  I don’t doubt a human would find her attractive in the form she's taken. Even though, like the rest of us, she has appeared in the shape of a mortal, she is stronger, grander, nobler than those vermin could ever hope to be. With rich, dark waves of hair cascading over toned shoulders, and a lithe, athletic body, she’s a sharp contrast to the rigid, stony form Kronos has donned.

  All eyes turn to her, then to Kronos to watch his reaction knowing he hasn’t spoken to his wife since her betrayal that allowed their children to become gods. Wearing a mask of rigid politeness, Kronos strides over and offers a hand to help Rhea down. She ignores the gesture and springs like a mountain cat jumping off a stone outcrop onto an unsuspecting human. Although they meet each other’s eyes and pass a barely detectable nod of greeting, they say nothing as if each is challenging the other to be the first to break the eons-long silence between them.

  Kronos turns away from her. He evaluates the hourglass. "It's time we begin. Any latecomers can be caught up. Typhon has something to say."

  For my speech, I remain on the stairs and double my size so all can see and hear me. All eyes turn toward me and, although I am the Father of Monsters, I’m unnerved by the co
ld hatred I see in them. I remind myself it’s not me personally. After our failure to defeat the gods we blamed one other for our fall—blame that in many cases turned to animosity which then turned to an absolute distaste and distrust for other titans. None of us has any love for the other and only a few have the slightest inkling of friendship—a fact that adds to the difficulties of organizing any plot to defeat the gods.

  "I know we hate being this close to one another, so I will get straight to the point. We need, no, we deserve power. We must take back what is ours. We are the original forces in Osteria, in all the world, and should not be subject to the rules the Twelve have put on us. If we join together, we could destroy them, retake our strength, and retake our dignity."

  "And how do we do that?" Prometheus asks, a mocking scowl of disapproval on his face. His look and tone seal what I had suspected: He will not fully come to our side. He will need to be watched.

  "Some of you may know, in an effort to save Osteria from her plague of humans, I tried to work with one of the gods." Murmurs of disbelief buzz through the great hall. Even I can’t believe how desperate I must have been to work with Ares and his human pet, Pelias. I vow never to degrade myself like that again. "From him I learned that all is not well with our immortal cousins. They bicker. They take sides. They go behind one another's backs."

  "This is nothing new," says Helios, the creator of the sun and stars. His eyes are so bright I can’t meet them for more than half a heartbeat. After the war, he nearly became a god. He even lived on Olympus for a time, studying the ways to change from titan to god, but something went wrong between him and Zeus, and he returned to his proper place among the titans.

  "No," I say, "but this time is different. There’s a battle brewing in Osteria. A war that will pitch polis against polis, and that means god against god. If the gods divide, if they start a war against themselves, they weaken. When they weaken, the mortals stop trusting them, stop believing in them. The gods need the humans’ love and worship to thrive. Without it, the gods weaken further. They become vulnerable. And without the gods to protect them, the humans themselves become vulnerable. Get rid of the gods and we get rid of the mortals, and vice versa."